


Chain Of Thought

by Banglabou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banglabou/pseuds/Banglabou
Summary: Post War, Severus Snape has retreated back into the solitary, scholarly life he's had for years. And while it might lack certain fringe benefits, it was a good life. Safe. Predictable. He was not going to allow it to be disrupted by his...libidinous reaction to a former student and colleague. SS/HG, always.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 38
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a long time SS/HG reader but writing is a newish endeavor. This is my second attempt at a story in this ship, and I never had the nerve to post the first, written for the SSHG Promptfest in 2017. Concrit appreciated, but heavy emphasis on the "Con". Please be kind!

Severus Snape walked down the dimly-lit corridor, surrounded by beautiful silence. He might not admit it when Minerva drew up the schedules, but doing evening rounds was something he rather looked forward to.

He paused at an open walkway and leaned on the railing. Outside, the night was alive with beauty. A crescent moon hung in a lattice of oak leaves. Flowering cloudberry grew along the forest’s edge, ethereal white blossoms glowing in the moonlight. He closed his eyes, savouring the gentle breeze that brushed his face.

A small sound from below broke the spell. He scanned the grounds until a hint of movement caught his eye. Someone was down there; a hooded figure moving along the edge of the woods. A student, perhaps? Or a potential threat? He reached out to the wards, trying to sense if there was any danger, but the steady, gentle humming assured him all was well.

The wind rose, swaying the tree branches and ruffling the flowers. It tugged back the hood on the figure below, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Granger. He’d know that rat’s nest anywhere, even if she quickly jerked the hood back up. But what was she doing out at this hour? An assignation? He supposed it was possible. She’d seemed more interested in her books than her social life since she’d taken on Flitwick’s old post, but she was young yet, wasn’t she? He really hadn’t paid much notice. His main concern with Professor Granger was avoiding her at the breakfast table. It was simply unnatural for anyone to be _that _cheerful in the morning.

X

Severus cursed inwardly as he entered the Great Hall. He’d overslept after his late night rounds; his head was pounding, and the unsettling sense that his day was spiraling out of control before it even started did nothing to improve his already sour disposition. And now the only available seat at the head table was between Poppy and Granger. His caffeine-deprived brain began slowly weighing options. Could he slink back to his rooms unnoticed? Could there be a potion that required his immediate attention? _Bloody fuck_. Poppy had spotted him; she smiled and waved in cheerful invitation. He tried to look inconspicuous, even glancing over his shoulder to see who she was gesturing at, but it was useless.

“Good morning, Severus!” Poppy trilled, patting the seat next to her.

He cleared his throat and tried to arrange his pained features into an expression of mild regret as he approached. “Morning, Poppy. Unfortunately, I’ve just remembered I need to check—“

“Oh, rubbish! Don’t you try that on me, Severus Snape. We both know perfectly well you finished up the Skele-Gro yesterday and the infirmary has full stock of everything else right now. Sit down. ” She patted the chair again, more insistently this time.

Hermione Granger spoke hesitantly, her voice low and gentle. “There’s Turkish coffee this morning. It’s quite nice.” She gave him a small smile.

He settled his lanky frame into the chair and Poppy placed a steaming cup in front of him. “There you are, my boy.”

Severus leaned over the cup, inhaling deeply. He was content to let his dark hair shroud his features, hoping to tune out the conversation around him. Taking a cautious sip, he sighed, feeling the hot liquid begin to restore his shattered sense of well-being. He was thankful it was the weekend. The sunlit morning outside was glorious, and it should be quiet once the students were in town. Perhaps he’d find a secluded tree under which he could stretch his legs and finally spend some time with that new monograph challenging Golpalott’s Third Law…

Poppy leaned around him. “Where on earth did you get that lovely necklace, Hermione? I can’t remember the last time I saw such beautiful workmanship.” She gave the younger woman a shrewd look. “Is it from an admirer?”

Hermione laughed, her fingertips tracing below the gleaming line of a delicately woven silver strand. “Oh, no, I bought this myself. It _is _pretty, isn’t it? Goblin-made. I just felt like a little indulgence.”

“Well, you deserve it after all your hard work. Youngest Charms Mistress in Great Britain! We’re all so proud, aren’t we, Severus?” Poppy’s foot nudged him under the table.

Severus grunted.

“Don’t mind him, dearie.” Poppy waved a dismissive hand. “You know Severus in the mornings.”

Hermione glanced at the dour man between them. “Yes,” she said, her eyes gleaming with poorly-suppressed amusement. “I do.”

“Are you going to Hogsmeade this afternoon?” Poppy stirred some sugar into her tea and set the spoon on her saucer with a clatter, oblivious to Severus’ wince. “I’d planned to go myself until that Burke boy and his broom incident. If you don’t mind popping into Scrivenshaft’s for me, I’d appreciate it so much.”

“It’s no trouble,” Hermione replied, spearing her last ripe square of melon with a fork. “I was planning to go there anyway. What about you, Severus?” Her voice stumbled over his given name.

He lifted his head and frowned at her warily. “What about me, Professor Granger?”

“Oh!” She seemed taken aback, cognac-coloured eyes wide. “I thought Minerva spoke with you…”

“I’m terribly sorry, Severus,” Minerva put in apologetically, leaning forward from Poppy’s other side. “I meant to ask you yesterday. Septima won’t be able to chaperone the trip to Hogsmeade today. I know it makes a long day for you after rounds last night, but having you assist is our best option at this point.”

Severus’ lips thinned. Such a request from Minerva was really no request at all. His role as co-Head was largely a ceremonial show of inter-House unity. He let her do the heavy lifting when it came to day-to-day operations; as a result he had little choice but to accede to her wishes now. He nodded curtly.

“Thank you kindly, Severus,” Minerva said briskly. “I’ll make it up to you on next month’s schedule.”

“There’s no need,” he ground out, struggling to keep the resentment from his tone_. So much for a relaxing afternoon of academia_. And if Granger thought topping off his coffee while giving him the dimple was going to improve his outlook on the matter, she was grossly mistaken.

X

Severus sat at a small outdoor café, legs outstretched under the table. He was mildly surprised at how… not unpleasant the day was proving to be. He’d hardly seen Granger at all, except for a brief glimpse as she strolled along, apparently window shopping outside Oglethorpe’s Ornaments with a few sixth-years. He pursed his lips disapprovingly. She was entirely too familiar with her students, especially for a Head of House.

It had been a trying start; the students were giddy with anticipation as the carriages were loaded, and the resulting decibel level was painful to his ears. He’d been high-strung since childhood. A sudden loud noise or too-quick movement was like a knife to his temples, and the sharp pain poured a moment’s unreasoning rage through his veins.

Years of spying cured him of showing any external reaction to such annoyances—a gift from Voldemort, he supposed—but the irrational fury still simmered within. He longed to dole out some detentions, but contented himself with dishing out imaginary hexes to the most irritating offenders…_Redactum Skullus to you, Dixon, your head’s quite large enough as it is….perhaps a Rubesco would grant you at least the **appearance** of modesty, Miss Bletchly…a simple Splingio should dampen your appeal with the young ladies, Mister Fawley, and Exsterco to you, MacSporran, just for being such a bloody nuisance all the time…_

The trip was uneventful. He’d had misgivings about the carriages; in his experience, students benefited from walking to town. The brief exertion had a calming effect which made for an easier trip overall. But Minerva had insisted the students deserved a treat with exams fast approaching. _Easy for her to say when she stays back in the peace and quiet of the Castle_! Luckily, his concerns were unfounded. The students settled down during the ride and were surprisingly well-behaved upon arrival.

He’d taken advantage of his unexpectedly peaceful afternoon to explore the new branch of Obscurus, and it had lived up to both his hopes and his fears_. _Eighty-seven galleons for a Catullus Spangle second edition! It was pure extortion, but he’d been unable to resist. He drew the blue leather-bound volume from its bag and ran his fingers along the embossed spine in anticipation. Leaning back, he opened the book and immersed himself.

By the fourth chapter, he became aware of the late afternoon’s shifting sunlight. He rose to his feet, tucking the book in his bag and wandlessly casting a quick Tempus. Not as late as he’d feared. He ought to have enough time to pick up some self-inking red quills for his Sunday marking before ensuring the students were safely in the carriages for the return trip.

He pushed open the narrow door to the shop, hearing the faint jingle of the bell as he entered. He was headed to the quill section when a glass display dome at the end of the aisle caught his eye. Beneath it, a silver-grey Hippogriff quill gleamed, speckled bronze highlights shimmering as it rotated temptingly under the lights. It was breathtaking. Could he really justify another expense after his splurge at the bookstore? Another forty-eight galleons brought today’s total over a hundred and thirty…more than he usually spent on himself in months. Then again, what the hell else was his Order of Merlin First Class stipend for?

He was still dithering when his thoughts were cut short by the sound of boxes tumbling to the floor in the next aisle, accompanied by several colorful oaths muttered in a feminine tone. _Circe’s saggy tits, these clumsy, idiotic students! _Yanked from his reverie, he rounded the corner with a rebuke for questionable language on his lips.

Severus stopped dead. He stood, transfixed by the sheer sensuous perfection of what was surely the most delectable female posterior he’d ever had the iniquitous pleasure of gawking at. Luscious curves were unabashedly on display in form-fitting denim that tapered down long legs into cappuccino-colored leather boots as its owner bent over, picking up stationery boxes from the floor. His lips parted, but no sound came forth.

Then she shifted her weight, hips swaying as she reached for the last few boxes that had fallen further away, and the effect on him was like a searing shot of electric heat straight to the groin. He put a hand on the nearby shelf to steady himself. He felt slightly dizzy, suddenly overcome by visions of ritual fires blazing, a dimly-lit room with swirling incense, mutual cries of ecstasy and encouragement and two undulating forms reflected endlessly in overhead mirrors. His own long-fingered hands were splayed on that magnificent arse, holding her in place as he drove into her from behind to the strains of throbbing saxophone accompaniment…

He stepped back, appalled. What was _wrong_ with him? What could be worse than shamelessly lusting after one of his students like this? He had never—**_never!_**—thought of a student that way!

Oh, he noticed which students were attractive; he was observant by nature. But it was a detached, clinical sort of observation; he also noticed which ones he considered plain, or which were clumsy enough to be a problem in Potions, or bright and ambitious enough to do well on their N.E.W.T.s. They were all simply factors by which he mentally categorized them. It never sparked any sort of reaction within him. And certainly nothing as elemental and compelling as this…

She stood and turned. “Are you all right?” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, regarding him with concern.

Sweet merciful Nimue! This was worse than a student. _Definitely_ worse.

It was Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

He could hardly bear to make eye contact with her, stammering disjointedly about the need to get the students back to the carriages immediately. He wasn’t even sure what he ended up buying at Scrivenshaft’s after his panicked dash to the counter, paying hastily with shaking hands. The bag seemed rather heavy.

They sat in strained silence and he felt her presence keenly. Why couldn’t she choose _now_ for another spot of overly-familiar socializing with students and sit in another carriage? He got out his book and buried his nose in it, clearly indicating his unwillingness to engage in conversation. Granger fiddled nervously with her wristwatch and he could feel her eyes upon him. She cleared her throat tentatively, once, then twice. He steadfastly refused to look up. Eventually, she took out her own book with a small sigh.

He stole a sidelong glance at her as she turned a page, sharp teeth worrying at her lower lip. No, not particularly pretty. He frowned, bemused.

These days, Severus lived within the confines of his intellectual pursuits. After the War there had been a handful of casual encounters with witches intrigued by the mystique of Dumbledore’s dark spy. They started out eager to thaw his frozen heart, but invariably proved willing to settle for other organs further south. He certainly didn’t mind. Sex was an enjoyable diversion, but it was depressing to be pursued for his press image alone. One had to talk to them eventually. And what was there to say to a vacuous twit interested only in his Death Eater notoriety?

Inevitably, he’d retreated back into the scholarly, solitary life he’d had for years. And while it might lack certain fringe benefits, it was a good life. Safe. Predictable. He was not going to allow it to be disrupted by his libidinous physical reaction to a former student and co-worker.

It was strange. He’d never been attracted to a colleague before. Then again, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever had a female colleague who wasn’t geriatric, half-mad, or as attracted to women as he was himself.

_That must be it_. He felt a hot rush of relief. Granger was simply the first female colleague he’d ever had who wasn’t old enough to be his mother and seemed to be in full possession of her mental faculties. She definitely had bluestocking tendencies, but he was reasonably certain she wasn’t interested in playing footsie with Hooch under the head table. The way she’d thrown over that gormless cretin Weasley seemed to be a comment on Weasley’s personal deficiencies rather than any sort of aversion to his gender. So perhaps he had a chance after all…

_Wait, what? _

He snapped the book shut abruptly, cutting off this entirely inappropriate train of thought. Granger jumped at the sound and looked at him, her startled doe eyes wide. He instantly regretted closing the book; he didn’t want her thinking he was inclined to initiate any social pleasantries. Setting the book on the seat, he opened his bag from Scrivenshaft’s and busied himself discovering its contents.

Five boxes of red quills? That was excessive even for him. More digging revealed several quill sharpening blades and a box of ivory parchment cards embossed with a sinuous silver “S”. A gleaming black case with a gold clasp at the bottom of the bag contained the hippogriff quill. He really had taken leave of his senses.

He heard a softly indrawn breath. Granger was eyeing the quill admiringly.

“That is incredible,” she murmured. “So rare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before…”

“Yes. Well.” He thrust it at her awkwardly. “Care to have a look?” Godric’s bollocks, what imbecility! In his haste to divert her attention away from himself, he’d made it seem as though he welcomed interacting with her. She took the case with gentle hands, giving him a shy smile.

He opened one of the red quill boxes, counting absentmindedly. Yes, there were twelve. Not that he really thought they’d shorted him; it was simply long habit from his sickle-pinching youth, making sure he got his money’s worth. Though what a pointless endeavor that was today, with the way he’d pranced about Hogsmeade scattering galleons like rose petals. The more fool he.

He glanced at her again as she took out the quill, smoothing her fingers along the burnished edge with a rapt expression. Not pretty, no. But there was a warmth about her. One never questioned where one stood with Granger; she had an honesty, a directness that was appealing, loathe though he might be to admit it.

Her lips were slightly parted, and he knew a sudden desire to press her to the back of the carriage seat, cradling that heart-shaped face in one hand as he ran his tongue inside the swell of her lower lip, coaxing her to open as her arms snaked around his narrow torso…

He turned away, resting his head against the cold glass of the window, and ran his fingers over the comforting line of black buttons along his sleeve. Gods, it felt close in here. Shouldn’t they be back at Hogwarts by now? Closing his eyes, he breathed slowly and deliberately, focusing his thoughts on pickled herrings and proper flobberworm dissection techniques.

The carriage lurched to a halt. He all but leapt from it, long limbs unfolding as he vaulted past her, gentlemanly manners be damned. He was halfway up the stairs, brushing past Filch with the student checklist, when he realized he was empty-handed. He quickly patted the pockets of his frock coat…no, he’d left too quickly to shrink anything and tuck it away. Reluctantly, he returned back to the now-empty carriages, almost colliding with Granger. She held out a Scrivenshaft’s bag.

“Isn’t this yours?” She sounded breathless.

“Yes.” He took the bag, feeling a warm shock as her fingertips brushed against his. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” she smiled, moving past him towards the stairs.

He glanced in the bag…there were the quills, the sharpening blades, the stationery and the black case. The whole gods-forsaken mess, but where was his book? He jerked open the carriage door, expecting to find it on the seat, but the seat was empty. Nor was it under the seat, or under the carriage itself.

The book was gone. How had he managed to lose it? He felt hollowed out and slightly ill. The expense was one thing—and not an insignificant thing, either—but a rare second edition like that wasn’t easily replaced regardless of cost.

“Miss—“ he called to Hermione, then brought himself up short. “My apologies. Professor. Did you happen to see a book in the carriage? Catullus Spangle’s _De Aliis P__atroni et __E__xcelsum __G__radu __M__ystic__i_? I purchased it this afternoon. It was blue, leather bound.” 

She turned back, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the stone path. “I, um…” her voice wound down tentatively. “Did it fall underneath by any chance?” She bent over, peering under the carriage steps. “That’s a rare edition. The one you were reading on the way back, right?”

Severus nodded, keeping his gaze carefully trained on the carriage steps. _Do not ogle her arse, do **not** ogle her arse…_

“I’m sorry I’m not much help,” she offered apologetically as she straightened up. “I don’t see it there. It’s a shame to lose something like that.”

“Yes. Well, thank you, Professor. I appreciate your efforts.”

“My pleasure, Severus.” Her smile was warm treacle.

Was that a wistful leer she gave him? No, surely not. It must be his lecherous imagination. He kept his eyes on the path, sternly denying himself the view as she sashayed up the stairs ahead of him.

Retreating to his rooms, he tossed the bag on the sofa and poured himself two fingers of Old Ogden’s finest, then added a third on impulse. He took a hasty gulp, coughing as the whiskey blossomed into flames in his throat. He rolled his shoulders to work out some of the stress.

So he’d finally noticed Granger was all grown up. What of it? Despite his fevered fantasies, brilliant and nubile geniuses did not take up with aging, greasy dungeon bats. Especially not when said dungeon bat was her former teacher, not to mention current employer. And wasn’t that just bloody perfect? He sighed, rubbing his temples in a slow circular motion.

The last thing he needed was to make an arse of himself, lose his position _and_ end up with a lawsuit on his hands. Granger was spitfire enough to call him out on the barest hint of impropriety in the workplace, and rightly so. No witch should have to tolerate an uncomfortable professional environment just because a monumental fuckwit like himself couldn’t keep his twitching bollocks under control.

Fortunately, there was no real need for him to cross paths with Granger that often. He saw her at meals and staff meetings, yes. But otherwise they hardly interacted with each other. He would just have to watch himself carefully and avoid her as much as possible until he got past this singular attraction.

He raised his glass heavenward and downed the contents in one neat gulp. _Here’s to you, Moody. Constant vigilance!_

Setting his glass on the window sill, he peered out into the darkness, then shook his head. He was far too distracted. He could’ve sworn he glimpsed a figure walking into the Forbidden Forest, but with the next blink there was nothing to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and encouragement! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I apologize that I didn't have time to reply; I hope you enjoy this new chapter and will consider this early update my heartfelt thank you. :)

Severus was up early the next morning, taking a brisk walk around the Lake to clear his sleep-fogged mind before heading to the staff room well ahead of the scheduled quarterly meeting. This meeting was mostly Minerva’s purview, making sure the staff’s concerns were understood and addressed. 

His contribution was to provide a show of support for Minerva and to ensure the financial allocations were appropriate for each department to properly implement the curricula, going to the Board of Governors if anything additional was required. The quarterly budget review was a nuisance, but time had taught them it was easier to squeeze small amounts from the Board on a regular basis than it was to persuade them to increase allocations to a larger amount annually. Some of the pureblood patriarchs who were among their financial supporters were also the most wretchedly penurious bastards imaginable.

Leaving the head chair for Minerva, he staked out his own seat in the corner. He kept himself occupied with a quick review of the last meeting’s minutes while he waited for the others; his sensitive nose kept him apprised of new arrivals without any need for looking up.

Nag champa with notes of sherry meant Sybill. Lemon verbena with a metallic finish meant Poppy. He kept his focus firmly on the papers before him when he detected the faint hint of orange blossom and ginger that signaled Granger’s arrival.

Soap and cinnamon meant Hooch, and lavender with a strong morning overlay of Arabica bean indicated the arrival of his dauntless co-Head. He took out his new Hippogriff quill and turned the page as the last stragglers shuffled in and found their seats. Smoothing the parchment to ensure the edges remained neatly concealed within his leather portfolio, he prepared for his morning’s most critical matter as Minerva called the meeting to order. He took a sip of coffee and gave his full attention to the page before him.

Five across, ten letters. “_A creature known for its incoherent babblings”._ Trelawney? Too short. McGonagall had the right number of letters, but might not fit with seven down, defined as “a shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round”. He thought of Sybill again and snorted inwardly. What sort of bloody nut thought this stuff up, anyway?

Diligent effort revealed that seven down started with a “B” and intersected with the middle of five across, but try as he might, he could get no closer to finishing. He traced the soft end of the quill around his lips contemplatively. He’d half convinced himself to give up and move on to the logic puzzle in the next column when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise; a reliable indicator he was being watched. Looking up, he caught Granger’s eyes following his quill with a steady intensity, though she dropped her gaze the moment she realized he was looking.

He set the quill down self-consciously. She was probably right; it _was_ a frightfully ostentatious writing instrument for a run-of-the-mill staff meeting. He should be signing treaties with it for as much as it had cost him.

He focused on Minerva with an expression of polite interest, sternly repressing the urge to roll his eyes. _Fucking hell._ She was still going on about the Board’s new directives for integrated studies. Didn’t they go over this last time? He couldn’t be the only one who found it stultifying. Septima was picking at her scone, obsessively digging out the blueberries and pushing them aside with her fork. Pomona was unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn behind her glass of pumpkin juice, and Sybill’s eyes had a glazed-over aspect. Severus decided the latter didn’t count, being so close to her habitual expression.

His attention drifted to Granger again. She sat near the window and the morning sun limned her chestnut hair, setting it aglow. He wondered if he’d been too harsh before. Perhaps she could be considered pretty; though not, he thought, in a conventional way. Her slightly upturned nose gave her a hint of girlishness that was repudiated by the determined line of her jaw. It was definitely a woman’s face, no longer that of a girl. Her mouth might be a bit wide, but her lips looked full and soft—_down, lad!_—and a slight lift at the corners indicated a sense of humour. Her cognac eyes were luminous, with the spark of sharp intelligence behind them. A pretty face, then. But not beautiful.

Her fingers toyed with the blue bead on the silver chain at her throat. Lapis lazuli, he guessed from the deep blue color shot through with thin flecks of gold. Her intense gaze was on Minerva as she listened, and he could almost hear the whirring of gears in that fast-clicking mind of hers. Christ, this would be just the sort of thing she’d find fascinating. They’d be here all morning at this rate.

He took up his quill again, doodling absently in the margins. Granger was speaking now, her voice a pleasant counterpoint to Minerva’s. He sketched a small, gamboling kitten carrying a wand between its teeth. Its whiskers were insanely curly. He heard Minerva replying in her lecture tone, and a shriveled-up prune wearing a pointed hat joined the kitten on the page. Hooch’s voice chimed in assertively, and he added a keen-eyed eagle soaring above them both, spiky feathers cresting its head. The busy scratching of his quill grew louder to his ears.

He gradually became aware of silence in the room, and looked up guiltily to find Minerva regarding him with a hint of amusement in her eyes. A quick glance around the room proved they were all looking at him. _Shite._

“My apologies, Minerva,” he improvised hastily. “Would you mind clarifying that last part?”

“I’m so glad you could join us this morning, Severus,” she said drily, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I expect you concur with Hermione’s concerns regarding the course materials for advanced-level N.E.W.T. preparation?”

He looked blankly over at Granger. The insolent chit looked back at him calmly, her expression giving nothing away.

“I’m certain Professor Granger’s concerns are, as always, valid,” he hedged. Surely that was a safe response?

“Well, that’s settled then,” Minerva nodded with satisfaction. “I’m glad we’re in agreement. I’ll expect you two to have the new budget proposal ready by the fifteenth. Septima, you won’t mind covering some of Hermione’s classes, will you? Excellent. She’ll have much more time to work with Severus that way.”

X

Severus spent the remainder of the meeting in seething silence, keeping just enough of his attention on the proceedings to enable him to nod at the appropriate moments.

How could Minerva do this to him, springing it on him out of the blue? He’d had no chance to marshal his arguments, no opportunity to think up even one meager excuse why it was completely unreasonable—if not downright impossible—for him to work so closely with Granger. Indignation rose like burning bile in his throat.

It was unthinkable! Why, he’d…he’d…

He’d what? Gods, what _could _he do? Refuse? The dictatorial old termagant signed his paycheck! Co-heads or no, he could hardly flout her reasonable expectation that he collaborate with a colleague without some sort of explanation, and an explanation that even approached the outskirts of the truth was something Minerva would never get, not if he had anything to do with it.

He steepled his fingers, pondering his options. Could he plead a heavy workload and shove all of the work onto Granger alone? Tempting, but likely to come back and bite him in the arse; with his luck she would prove even more adept at it than he was, and he’d find himself left outside the process entirely. The budget reviews might be a nuisance, but he liked having his fingers in all the monetary pies at Hogwarts. It gave him a level of knowledge and control that had been sorely lacking during the Albus years. Besides, Minerva had been willing to have Septima fill in for Granger, and she might do something similar for him if he squawked too much. The last thing he needed was more time freed up to put him entirely at Granger’s disposal.

Could he posit that Granger’s workload was too heavy for her to take on any side projects? Minerva had already sabotaged that to some extent, but with exams not far off he might be able to gain traction with the argument that she was too valuable to remove from the classroom even for short periods of time. That might appeal to his co-Harpy’s sensibilities; she took an absurd amount of pride in her cubs’ accomplishments even after they had graduated and moved on.

Was he above playing on Minerva’s guilt over their acrimonious relationship during the last year of the War to bend her to his will? Absolutely not. Best to save that for a last resort, however; surely he could persuade her to see reason without any call for ugly Dumbledorian manipulations.

He waited until the meeting’s adjournment, dallying as he organized his papers. Most of the staff fled for the corridor as quickly as possible, eager to make the most of their Sunday now that work obligations had been fulfilled. Even Granger left without further question or commentary—_a first, no doubt_—and he allowed himself the luxury of a glimpse as she walked out, those mad curls swaying like a gorgeous trailing nimbus down her back.

Minerva snapped the buckle of her portfolio in place; the sound was loud in the suddenly quiet room. He turned to find her watching him with a knowing little half-smile. He wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by it, but he was positive he didn’t like it.

“Minerva,” he began uncertainly, “do you have a moment? I wished to speak with you.”

“Yes, I rather thought you might.” Her tone was bland.

“About the budget review…” he trailed off, expecting her to chime in with a comment or explanation.

She regarded him in silence, and the hint of an amused gleam in her eyes along with the realization that she was not going to make this easier for him filled him with fury. “I think it would be best if I were to develop the proposal on my own,” he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. “May I inquire what led you to that conclusion? Because—“ she held a hand up at his indrawn breath. “—because if your concerns are regarding Hermione’s competence to assist you, I would remind you of your own comments at the time of her hiring. You said she would be an exemplary addition to the staff and that Hogwarts would be most fortunate to have her, if you recall.”

“Yes, oddly enough I _can_ recall having said that,” he snarled, then pulled himself together. He couldn’t afford to antagonize her; Merlin only knew what more she’d be capable of when provoked. If he wasn’t careful he might find himself doing evening rounds with Granger, a task he had managed to avoid so far. He envisioned patrolling the torch-lit halls with her, the soft golden light dancing over her features and he winced. He drew a breath and began again.

“Minerva,” he purred, dropping his voice to a lower, more conciliatory tone. “You misunderstand. The issue is not Professor Granger’s competence. She is, after all, one of our finest instructors. It would simply be unwise to remove her from the classroom with exams so near. I believe expediency would be served best if I were to manage this alone; it is a better use of resources for our students, not to mention far easier for Professor Granger herself. I am not, as you are aware, the most pleasant or patient man to work with…”

“And you wish to spare her the ordeal of your company? My, how very noble of you.” Minerva’s eyes twinkled. “But I hardly think you need fret, Severus. Hermione is, as you may recall, an Order of Merlin recipient just as you are yourself. Her dedication and courage were instrumental to our victory in over Riddle, to say nothing of her intellectual prowess, which is, of course, formidable. Hers were the highest NEWTs in two decades, as you know quite well, young man, considering whose scores set the benchmark she was competing against. We were extraordinarily fortunate to have her on our side. Without her bravery and resourcefulness, it’s entirely possible Potter would’ve failed, despite the best efforts of the Order…”

Severus felt his jaw tighten. He had heard Minerva’s little speech on the Many Merits Of Granger at numerous Ministry occasions as well as Board meetings at the time of her hiring. The current iteration annoyed him more than he would’ve believed possible.

“…so I think she will find it within her considerable powers to handle even Severus Snape at his uncaffeinated worst.” She drew her angular frame up in the schoolmarm attitude he loathed. “Really now, Severus. I must confess I don’t see what the trouble is. If one recommends someone for a position in such glowing terms, one must expect to actually _work_ with them at some point.”

“Yes, one _must_, mustn’t one?” He infused his sarcastic tone with all the venom he could muster. “I cannot fathom your reasoning, Minerva. I was broad-minded enough to acknowledge Granger’s potential worth to Hogwarts despite her specious hand-waving and proclivity for regurgitating lecture notes as though they constituted original thought during her student years, but that hardly translates to a wish to spend time cheek by jowl with her now, or indeed with any former student, however gifted they may prove to be in their chosen field!” He was raving and knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. He floundered on with a strange sensation of drowning, and hissed out his final salvo: “I would have hoped by this point in my dubious career that I might at last have some say regarding with whom I collaborate, rather than having undesirable situations _forced upon me_.”

It was as subtle as a bludger to the head, but Minerva did not react—at least, not in a way he would have foreseen. She was utterly unsurprised, and the look she gave him was tolerant and fond, as though he were a well-loved child whose tantrum she had anticipated.

“There I must beg to differ with you, Severus.” A hint of a smile played about her lips. “I, in fact, greatly enjoy working with former students. There’s nothing quite as gratifying as seeing what they are capable of achieving once they are all grown up.”

Her enunciation on these last three words seemed slower and more deliberate to his ears, and icy fingers ran down his spine. Did she _suspect_? No, impossible. He’d been a master of deception for years! His reasons for wanting to avoid Granger couldn’t have been _that _transparent.

Could they?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the encouragement! And extra thanks to KatPru72, Hislittlewitch, buttons1721, Choobey, Nux_Nevermore, iron_on_maiden, WTFic, QuantumLife, LemonEater17, OnceUponAnArabianHorse, ToniOcean, NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands, and Yaya3850 for your lovely comments! I can't tell you how much it means to me! I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

A group of first-years flinched back against the wall as Severus rounded the corner scowling, robes impressively a-flare as he muttered to himself behind tightly closed lips. He found it perversely gratifying how his angry footsteps kept time with his imprecations_. You warty old bag, you mangy old hag, you yowling old, prowling old stray… _He didn’t mind if the prowling reference to Minerva’s Animagus form was a bit obscure; he knew what he meant. 

“Severus? I’m so glad I found you.” Granger’s voice had a forced nonchalance. She was loitering near the pillar at the end of the hallway, and he was certain her presence there was anything but coincidental.

“I was hoping we might go over some ideas for enhancing the practical portion of N.E.W.T.s in Charms. If you don’t mind. And if you have time, that is.” She dropped her gaze and fidgeted with a lone curl, twisting it so tightly around one finger that her fingertip glowed pink and the skin beneath the curl was a near-translucent white. He watched, fascinated.

Her hands were not delicate or graceful, as Lily’s had been. They looked capable and strong, stained with ink and calloused by use of a quill. He wondered what it would be like to feel them knotted in his hair, drawing his head down to her breast and hearing her stuttering gasp as his tongue swirled over her nipple.

Would those strong fingers clasp his chin as her tongue sought entrance to his mouth, demanding and pleading all at once? Would they slide along his thigh, higher and higher until--

Severus shook his head in a desperate bid to clear his traitorous mind. Granger had released the curl and let her hand drop uncertainly to her side when she realized he was watching and he cursed himself for a fool. He was a swine to make her feel self-conscious, especially when the issue had nothing to do with her actions and everything to do with his inability to reign in his palpitating imagination.

“Of course. Do you have your notes with you?” He kept his tone brisk and professional, and was relieved to see her tension ease.

“Well, I have some. I didn’t bring everything because I wasn’t sure if you’d be willing or if I’d even have a chance to bring it up at the meeting—Minerva keeps us on such a strict timetable. But I think it’s enough for a start. Do you mind if we talk in your office? I’m afraid I’ve got grading and quarter-end projects all over my desk and it’s quite cluttered.” She gave him a sheepish grin.

“That will be acceptable,” he replied stiffly. Gods, could he sound any more like he had a stick wedged up his arse?

Yet she didn’t seem to mind, falling in step beside him easily. He wondered briefly what she thought of him, then shoved the idea away. There was no point in pondering if Granger thought much of him. Surely she didn’t think of him at all.

They continued in silence towards Gargoyle Corridor. He’d persuaded Minerva to take the Headmaster’s office; it held too many unpleasant memories for him to want to use it on a permanent basis. Intricate extension spells provided him with a new office across the corridor. Minerva had insisted it was not appropriate for him to remain in the dungeons if they were co-Heads, and before his retirement Filius completed the charm work that gave Severus his own stone gargoyle outside the door. The two of them flanked the door like bookends.

“Should you require the password, it is _desmodontinae_,” he murmured, hearing Granger’s small huff of amusement as the gargoyles shifted aside.

“Please have a seat,” he gestured to a chair, turning to put away his notes from the morning’s meeting. The folder he used for quarterly meetings was on his desk; he tucked the leather portfolio inside and shoved it in the credenza, quickly closing the drawer.

When he turned back, he saw she had already cleared a space for her own papers on the far side of his desk, setting aside a box of red quills and a stack of marking. Her smile was apologetic. “I had to move a few things. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He sat down, folding his hands and giving her his polite attention. “Now, tell me what you propose, Professor Granger.”

She paused a moment before answering, her sturdy fingers picking at imaginary lint on her robes. “Well, first, I propose that you are entirely too formal in addressing me.” She glanced at him from under her lashes, as if gauging his reaction.

“Indeed?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We’ve been colleagues for quite some time now, and while you’ve never given me permission to use your given name, you’ve never corrected me, either. _Qui tacet consentire videtur_, as Thomas More said.”

“Yes, and you see where that got him,” Severus scoffed.

“Be that as it may,” she laughed, waving her index finger at him, “It creates a disparity when I use your given name and you address me by my surname. It makes me feel as though I’m still a student.”

This, of course, was precisely why he continued the habit in the first place. It was an easy yet effective means of creating a barrier. He found it disconcerting to be called out on it so bluntly.

“Perhaps I’m too polite to correct you,” he evaded.

She snorted dismissively.

“Perhaps I’d prefer it if you addressed me formally in return.”

“Would you?” She met his gaze, and the look she gave him was cool and assessing. She slowly shook her head, the corners of her lips curving up slightly. “I don’t think so. If you did, you’d have said something long before now.”

Severus drew a breath to refute this and stopped, mouth slightly open. She was right, of course. He enjoyed hearing his name on her lips, and he realized with an uncomfortable start that this had been the case for some time.

He knew from the gleam in her eyes that his hesitation did not go unnoticed, and he was dismayed at how swiftly she pounced to exploit it. “Therefore, I really must insist that you call me by my given name as well.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair, watching him closely.

He could continue to argue the point, but to do so might be at the risk of appearing even more of a supercilious berk than he already did. Strangely, he found he didn’t want to argue.

Could there really be any danger in allowing himself the small indulgence of using her name? He was on informal terms with the rest of his colleagues. Perhaps, he reasoned to himself, it was better to treat her in exactly the same manner. He didn’t want her speculating there might be a reason why he preferred to keep her in particular at such a prickly arms-length distance. At the same time, there was no harm in making her squirm for having forced him to it.

He paused, holding her gaze for a moment before conceding. “As you wish, then,” he murmured, inclining his head and allowing his voice to slip into a lower, caressingly velvet tone. “Hermione.”

Severus had more than his fair share of personal insecurities, but he was not fool enough to be ignorant of the effect his voice had on women—and occasionally men too, as he’d learned to his surprise. It was gratifying to note that Granger was not immune. She dropped her gaze as he named her, a becoming flush of pink on her cheeks._ Interesting._

She swallowed and took up her papers. “Well,” she cleared her throat, and continued. “Here are the charms I thought perhaps we could add to the practical portion of exams. Have a look and see what you think.” She held them out to him.

He took the papers and scanned them, realizing with chagrin that he would need his reading glasses to decipher her neat but incredibly small handwriting. He put his glasses on and peered at her notes, a scowl of mortification on his brow. What a superannuated arse he’d made of himself, purring her name as though she might find anything about him remotely attractive. She had probably colored up in embarrassment on his behalf. What next? Would he still expect her to blush at the sound of his voice when she realized a few more years and he’d be firmly in the soft-foods demographic? He was an imbecile. Worse, he was an _old_ imbecile.

He buried himself in the text, and as he continued to read he found himself nodding in agreement. They were sound suggestions on her part; he had long felt that N.E.W.T.s placed a disproportionate weight on theoretical study without requiring students to demonstrate practical application of their knowledge.

He turned the page and stopped, then read it again before looking up at her in stunned incredulity. “Bloody fuck, Granger!” he burst out before he could stop himself. “You can’t possibly want them to perform the Fiorimonde charm!”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide, her hand darting out swiftly as if to snatch the papers away from him before she pulled back. “No, I didn’t mean—those are just my notes on something I was researching! Of _course_ that isn’t for the students! I don’t know how that got in there…”

He looked at her sharply over his glasses, holding the papers in a firm grip. “And what, may I ask, is the nature of your research? The Ministry has not yet classified this as Dark Magic, but surely you realize this is highly questionable, owing to the level of compulsion the charm causes in the subject.”

“I, errm….no. No, I didn’t realize.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve really just started looking into it.”

He frowned, wary of her sudden capitulation, and chose his words with care. “This is a dangerous subject to be meddling with, even on the most superficial level. I strongly advise you to reconsider. It’s easy to be lured in by something that seems harmless at the start, but I assure you it can slip out of your control before you realize what’s happening.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I mean, I understand.”

He gave her a long look before relenting, tucking the papers in a folder. “Your other suggestions have merit. I’ll need to confirm with Minerva before we can proceed, but I expect I’ll have a chance to speak with her about it later this week.”

“This is your folder for the Headmistress?” She tapped a finger on it. “But it says Minola, not Minerva.”

“I am aware of that.”

She looked at it more closely. “Minola, Katherina?” she read in a puzzled voice.

“Yes,” he said tersely, surprised when she let out a loud, burbling gurgle of mirth. It wasn’t a dainty laugh, nor was it particularly pretty. Yet he found himself unaccountably pleased, both by the distinctly unmusical sound and the realisation that he was responsible for eliciting it.

“I might have pegged you for a Shakespeare fan! I mean, you are a bit, well…a bit…” she gestured vaguely with one hand.

“I’m a bit _what_, Granger?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Hermione,” she corrected firmly. “And I just meant you can be a bit melodramatic. Don’t pretend you don’t know it. But hasn’t Minerva figured out the reference? The Taming of the Shrew _is_ one of his best known works.”

“No, she hasn’t, and I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut on that score.” He smirked. “I would hate to have to redo my entire filing system.”

“No need to worry.” Her smile was conspiratorial. “I won’t say a thing.” She rose from her chair. “Thank you for your time, Severus. I truly appreciate it.”

He watched her go, and he couldn’t shake the impression that she’d slipped away from him somehow.

X

He didn’t see Granger at dinner that night, and he didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved. Their conversation left him with an uneasy feeling, and he couldn’t put his finger on what the trouble was. He combed over his memory of their conversation, her notes on the charm, her claims that she had done only the most rudimentary research. When he puzzled it out, he realized the trouble was surprisingly simple.

He wasn’t sure he believed her.

He walked around the Black Lake after dinner, lost in thought. Examining her notes again proved fruitless; the terse information gave little indication of her intentions. He hadn’t seen this charm used in years, but he remembered it as a favorite of Malfoy senior. Lucius had been devilishly talented at Charms, and if memory served he’d used this one on a number of youthful conquests, as well as Narcissa herself in the early days of their courtship, all unbeknownst to her.

What was Granger up to, digging into such questionable charmwork? He supposed it was possible she was researching it only as a theoretical endeavor; her love of even the most esoteric knowledge purely for its own sake was second only to…well, second only to his own, if he was completely honest with himself.

But her swift denials made him suspect there was more to it than mere abstract learning. She’d seemed so eager to plead ignorance. Too eager. Although, he reasoned, this could simply be embarrassment at having an colleague catch her reading up on charmwork that did, after all, involve an element of sexual compulsion. Perhaps that’s all it was.

He was still mulling it over as he returned to his office and took out his evening marking. The new box of red quills made a shifting sound as he picked it up; he lifted the flap and was surprised to see it appeared to be more loosely packed than usual. He absently ran a fingertip over the nibs and began counting.

He frowned, and counted again. _Those cheating bastards. _He was going to have words with the manager of Scrivenshaft’s, charging him for a dozen quills when the box contained only eleven.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short update. It's been crazy around here with flu and kids and work! One of my resolutions for the year is to finish up my unfinished projects; I will do my best to keep updates regular and I'm determined to get this completed! Thanks to everyone for your kind words and encouragement, and special thanks to MorbidMuch, KatPru72, WTFic, BlueMoonie, Choobey and Barklarky for your comments. I appreciate you so much!

Severus was up at sunrise the next morning. His own books offered little information on the Fiorimonde charm, but the Restricted Section would surely have useful data. Best to be there early and complete his research away from Granger’s prying eyes.

He noticed lights as he approached the library; even at this hour, Irma Pince was at work. She looked up from her book and narrowed her eyes as he passed. “We’re up early today,” she observed, lips pursed in a sour expression.

“Indeed,” he nodded, not slowing his pace until he reached the stack he was looking for. He stopped, quickly skimming titles. Perhaps Goshawk’s work on archaic charms could point him in the right direction? He took the book and opened it carefully to avoid putting pressure on the cracked and fragile spine. Ah, there it was…

“_The fiorimonde charm, while classified as a charm, is better understood as a compulsion spell, which, once performed, operates by provoking the object with obsessive thoughts intended to drive him or her to the commissioner. ‘Ancient Love Magic’ __by Pindar Faraone provides a complete overview—“_

He closed the book gently, scanning the shelves, and was startled at the sound of a soft voice from the next stack.

“Good morning, Severus.” Hermione smiled, tucking an old canvas-bound book under her arm. He couldn’t see the title of the book she held, but a small part of the faintly gilded name visible along the spine read “--aone.” He ground his teeth in frustration.

“Doing some more research?” He gestured at the book.

“Oh, just a bit,” she evaded. “For a friend.”

He raised a skeptical brow at this. “I should think Faraone’s work would be too rudimentary for you, considering your abilities.”

“Do you really think so? That’s quite a compliment. But don’t praise my Charms too highly,” she laughed. “People will say we’re in love.”

_“What?”_ he gaped.

“I was only joking,” she replied defensively. “It’s a song. Haven’t you ever heard of Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

“What is that, some Muggle musical group?” He scowled.

“They’re composers, Severus.” She shook her head, and her tone was teasing. “Are you telling me you’re not a fan of musicals?”

“Hardly,” he snorted, peering past her at the shelves. No other book by Faraone was visible. “It’s been years since I had time for that sort of nonsense.”

“Oh? And what _was_ the last musical you saw? Let me guess…Sweeney Todd?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to dignify that with an answer, Granger.”

“Hermione,” she corrected automatically. Her smile remained, but her gaze became speculative. “What are you looking for in the Charms section anyway? Perhaps there’s something I can help you with?” She shifted on her feet, holding the book snug against her side.

“Errm, no.” Severus extemporized. “I was just—that is to say, Poppy asked if I would pick up a book for her.”

“On Charms? What does she need it for? I’d be glad to help.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he said dismissively. “I’ll just bring her the book and she’ll manage. She’s a dab hand at Charms herself, you know.” He pulled a book from the shelf at random. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “That’s the book she needs?” she blurted. Severus looked down, mortified at the sight of his own pale fingers clutching a worn edition of “_Florilegium Remedia Prostata_”.

“You’re sure?” she blinked. “I mean, it’s not something that’s usually a concern for students, is it? It’s more of a…” she trailed off, biting her lip as if to cut off further speech.

Severus could easily finish her sentence in his head. Yes, it _was_ an issue associated with older wizards, and from the look on Granger’s face it wasn’t hard to guess who she thought required treatment. After all, the only older men on staff besides himself were Hagrid and Filch. His cheeks blazed red, and the sight of his discomfiture seemed to make her more embarrassed.

“It must be close to breakfast time. Shall we go?” She gave him a hesitant smile.

“Indeed,” he murmured, relieved at the change in subject. Shrinking the book, he tucked it in his pocket and turned to leave. He was both surprised and pleased when she hastened to fall in step beside him.

Breakfast was already underway when they arrived at the Great Hall. He held out a chair for Granger as his mother had taught him. As she sat, a flash of crimson at her throat caught his eye. He peered down her prim neckline to see what it might be, and was momentarily distracted.

Her skin was smooth and perfect, with a golden warmth beautifully unlike his own pallor. A scattering of freckles vanished into the tantalizing hint of cleavage visible from his vantage point. He imagined pulling her insane mass of curls to one side and leaning down, his teeth grazing the lovely column of her throat, leaving a trail of nips and kisses as he brought his hands around to cup her impossibly perfect knockers, his thumbs circling the pebbled tips. She’d lean back, sighing, tilting her head to encourage him and twining her fingers in his dark hair as she drew his mouth to hers…

He blinked as he realized that in reality she had turned to look up at him with a puzzled frown, a single red jasper bead shifting on her silver chain alongside the lapis bead as she did so. His hands were still clutching the back of her chair; he let go quickly as if he’d been burned and took his seat, aghast that his ogling might have been seen by half the Great Hall.

Casting a guilty glance down the table, he was horrified to meet Minerva’s unblinking gaze. She quirked a sardonic brow at him, then turned to Poppy, who was giving him a knowing smirk. They put their heads together and murmured busily, glancing occasionally in his direction.

Severus scowled, moodily poking at his eggs with a fork. How long before one of the geriatric Gorgons cornered him with questions? Knowing Poppy, he’d give it a few hours at most. And he would be lucky if it was only questions—Minerva would be well within her rights to take issue with his shameless objectification of a colleague. He took a bite of egg, swallowing uncomfortably.

His thoughts circled back to Granger. Where had the second bead on her necklace come from? He was certain it hadn’t been there yesterday. He remembered the add-a-bead jewelry craze during his younger days. Young witches would buy a chain, and young wizards would buy beads for the object of their affections, sometimes to mark a special occasion but usually in the simple hopes of currying favor. Was it possible people still did this all these years later? Lily had been obsessively determined to fill her chain. He recalled his humiliation when the lone synthetic pearl he could afford was replaced by a row of gleaming gold and gemstone beads from Potter.

He set down his fork, appetite vanishing as an unwelcome realization dawned. For here was the explanation of Hermione’s sudden interest in questionable charms: surely it was to ensnare whichever young, straight-nosed wizard with a pristine history of perfect life choices had caught her eye. Her interest was clearly reciprocated if the beads on her necklace were anything to go by.

He felt a strange pang as he looked sidelong at Granger, who sat slathering lemon curd on her scone. It was the story of his life, wasn’t it? A woman like Hermione would always belong to someone else. This had been the case for so long he was surprised the injustice of it still rankled.

He pushed his plate away. Hermione looked up, and he noted with bitterness how lovely the line of her throat was.

“Are you all right? You’ve scarcely eaten anything.” She glanced at his plate.

He drew a breath to assure her he was fine, then decided instead to seize upon the easy exit she’d provided him.

“I’m feeling a bit off today; I’m sure it’s nothing. If you’ll excuse me…?” He made to rise from his chair, but she stopped him, her hand tightly clutching the cuff of his sleeve.

“Perhaps you should see Poppy before classes? It’s not like you to admit to feeling ill, so it must be rather bad.” Her eyes tracked his face anxiously.

“It’s nothing,” he snapped, sharply tugging his arm from her grasp. He was surprised by the firmness of her grip. And despite his determination to notice nothing more about her, he observed despairingly that she was far prettier than he’d previously believed. He looked away, to spare himself the distressing clarity of her eyes and the terrible perfection of her lips.

She reached out again, and this time he was startled to feel the soft warmth of her hand on his. “Then I’ll see you this afternoon? Minerva will want an update on our budget proposal.”

He nodded curtly, jerking his hand away and heading for the doors. He felt Granger’s concerned gaze follow him, and was unnerved to note as he left that Minerva and Poppy were watching him closely as well.


End file.
